


where you belong (the bedtime story remix)

by LadySilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child!Allison, FemmeRemix, Gen, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:59:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/LadySilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes her parents pack her off to bed with rushed goodnight kisses. Her father makes sure the nightlight is plugged in, her favorite stuffed dog tucked in her arms, then stands in the doorway and stares at her for a long, long time before wishing her one last goodnight and stepping away. Those nights always feel different to Allison, unsettled, and she finds her body curling into a tight ball under the covers while she waits for sleep to find her. Those nights, she dreams about monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where you belong (the bedtime story remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/gifts).
  * Inspired by [where you belong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/694765) by [verity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity). 



Most nights after she goes to bed, Allison listens to her parents move around the house, doing the adult things they need to do: the clattering of dishes being loaded into the dishwasher; the heavy steps of her father carrying the laundry basket up or down the stairs; low conversations where only the stray, empty word floats to her ears. Eventually the front door is opened and closed, the resounding thunk of the deadbolt announcing that the house is completely locked up and secure. If she's made it that far, Allison falls asleep then, knowing that she's safe and the world is spinning the way it's supposed to.

Sometimes her parents pack her off to bed with rushed goodnight kisses. Her father makes sure the nightlight is plugged in, her favorite stuffed dog tucked in her arms, then stands in the doorway and stares at her for a long, long time before wishing her one last goodnight and stepping away. Those nights always feel different to Allison, unsettled, and she finds her body curling into a tight ball under the covers while she waits for sleep to find her. Those nights, she dreams about monsters.

* * *

She's not supposed to get out of bed unless she has to use the bathroom, so she convinces herself that she does. The floor in her room is cold. All the floors are cold in this house. Her last house had lots of carpet that was soft to walk on and that swallowed her footsteps when she got up after lights out. This house doesn't, so she puts on her slippers and hopes they'll have the same effect.

On the way to the bathroom, she decides that she doesn't need to go after all. What she needs is something to drink. Then she'll go, and she'll still be telling the truth if anyone catches her. She listens at the top of the stairs for her parents. Their voices seem to be coming from the study; the door is closed, the light on. The coast is clear.

Just as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the door swings open and her father steps out. Behind him, Allison can see her mother scowling over some papers that are spread across the huge desk that always takes six men and a lot of swearing to move. She's wondered why they don't sell it, like they sell a lot of the other furniture when they move, but she's never asked. Her parents have taught her that it's not good to ask too many questions.

For a second upon seeing her, her father's face grows hard and she feels her grip tightening on the banister. Since they moved to LA, she's been getting yelled at a lot more, and she thinks it might be because they don't like the house either because most of the boxes are still packed in the garage, so she knows that they're not planning to stay here long. Then his expression softens. “Trouble sleeping?” he asks.

She nods, looks down at the floor so she doesn't risk seeing more of what's going on the room behind him. She'd hide behind her hair, but Mom braided it before bed into two neat plaits that brush against her neck as she stares at the floor. “Can I have some milk?”

He hesitates a second, until her mother speaks up: “It can wait. We can't do much until--” She cuts off when her father clears his throat.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he answers, holding out his hand to accept hers.

* * *

In the kitchen, her father puts a mug of milk into the microwave, and Allison watches it spin around inside, bright behind the honeycombed grid. She takes a step back because Grandpa Argent once told her that it was dangerous to stand too close. Her mother said it wasn't true when she asked, but she doesn't think it's worth the risk. Just to be safe, she tugs her father back with her; she doesn’t want him to turn into something she doesn’t recognize. Her Grandpa Argent also said that that happens sometimes too. Her mother changed the subject when she asked about that.

Through the window over the sink she catches a glimpse of shadows bending and swaying. She knows it has to be the flowers in the window box, maybe the orange tree in the yard, but it's still hard to convince herself that there's nothing dangerous out there. 

She wants to ask her father to walk her back upstairs, tuck her in, stay with her until she falls asleep. But she doesn't want to be a baby—she's five now, can write her name and everything, it's on the fridge. In the bright kitchen, her fear seems silly, so she accepts the heated mug and holds it carefully in both her hands, like she's often been reminded, and tries to pretend that this is all she needs.

A crash in the garage nearly blows her act. She doesn't jump, but she does let out a yelp and scoots closer to her father. For a second, she’s sure that whatever’s about to come in is going to hurt her, hurt her family. Why else would her father lock the house down so carefully at night unless he were trying to keep something out?

Her breath sticks in her throat as the garage door swings open and bounces off the spring doorstop. When she was little, Allison always liked playing with those, pushing them back and forth, watching as they swung and vibrated back to attention. This one trembles like she’s doing when the door pulls away. "I've got some—" her aunt Kate says, swinging a backpack off her shoulder. She catches sight of Allison and comes up short. "Hey, Allison, you're up late."

That's the second time tonight that someone has changed what they were saying because of her. She tilts her head, much relieved but still wary, and considers asking Aunt Kate what she was going to say; _she_ might actually tell her. Then again, she might not.

"Had a nightmare," her father answers—which isn't true. She hadn't fallen asleep yet, so she couldn't have had a nightmare. Besides, how did he know?

“No, I didn't,” Allison protests, her question forgotten in the indignity.

“Maybe she was just feeling lonely,” Aunt Kate suggests, looking conspiratorially at Allison. Allison nods, pleased that someone understands. The milk nearly sloshes over the rim of the mug from the movement. Aunt Kate had always understood what she was feeling. It's hard sometimes to remember that she's an adult. “You want a bedtime story, babydoll? I bet I know a few I haven't told you yet.”

“Kate,” her father says, a note in his voice sounding like the one he uses with Allison right before he starts counting to three.

Aunt Kate points to the backpack,which she'd dropped to the floor by his feet. “Everything you need's in there. You two can get started while I get our girl off to dreamland.” She shoots a look over Allison's head that seems to dare her father to start counting.

Allison takes a sip of her milk while she tries to figure out why her father and her aunt are glaring at each other. She thinks they might be waiting for her answer, but her father wants her to say one thing and her aunt another. Sometimes people ask her things and she's supposed to tell the truth, and other things they ask her things and she's supposed to lie—like the time Grandma Mercy bought her all new clothes and Allison had to pretend to like them, even the dress with the scratchy collar and puffy sleeves that made her look like a balloon animal. "Yeah," she says after moment. "I want a story." It's the truth. Her room was awfully dark. She takes another sip of milk, hiding her face behind the rim of the cup while she waits for her father to jump in and try to talk her out of her decision. He's still glaring at her aunt, who has a big grin on her face now, so Allison knows which side she picked.

At last her father reaches over and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “Go ahead. Just one story. I don't want you up all night.”

Allison nods and sets the mostly-empty cup on the counter. Her father promptly picks it up and tucks it into the fridge. “I'll be in the office,” he says to Aunt Kate, then leans over and gives Allison a kiss on the forehead. “And I'll see you in the morning.”

With Aunt Kate leading the way, Allison heads back down the hallway and up the stairs to her room, secure in the knowledge that any monsters out there aren't going to get her tonight.


End file.
